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When they said that being a villain wasn't a glamorous job, they weren't kidding. Bokuto flops backward with a groan, resting his whole weight against Kuroo's back, making Kuroo bend forward to support them both with his elbows on his knees. His weight is warm, a settling presence even as it makes Kuroo's shoulders strain.
"Hungry," Bokuto mumbles.
"Yeah," Kuroo agrees, more air than voice in his response. They're an odd pair, one stocky and the other lanky, black-haired and white-haired. The only thing in common are their eyes, focused and terribly gold.
Shapeshifting is an odd Quirk, and their respective forms are too small to be useful for dramatic battles. They scrape out a living on the edges of society, holing up in blown-out buildings like this one, dripped on by the weather. High school dropouts, companions that only later became friends, one day Bokuto looked at him and said, Wanna break the rules? and they'd been partners ever since.
It's easier to hide when they're an owl and a cat, but more tiring too. Bokuto stretches his legs out and Kuroo knows how it feels, to relearn the shape of yourself as you once were, to stretch fingers instead of feathers, flex toes instead of wicked claws. Bokuto can't shake the habit of turning his whole head instead of moving his eyes; Kuroo keeps trying to twitch a tail that isn't there.
Bokuto rolls his weight off Kuroo's back, then scrambles across the rubble until he's half in Kuroo's lap, grasping at his shoulders and upper arms as if afraid Kuroo will disappear. "So go get something to eat," he says, restless with worry. "the grandma on fifth street always feeds you when you visit."
"What about you," Kuroo says. Cat food is better than none for him, but it doesn't suit an owl.
"I'll...something, yeah," Bokuto says. His grip is strong but gravity is working against him, slowly pulling him out of Kuroo's lap. He does nothing to fight it, his head drooping as his knees bump against the concrete. "Something, something."
He nuzzles his head under Kuroo's hand and Kuroo obliges, stroking over the bristle of his hair, his nails catching on the scattered feathers there.
"We can hit another convenience store," Kuroo says. His hand slides down over Bokuto's jaw and tilts his face up until their eyes meet, mirror images of tiredness and devotion. "We'll get you something good."
Bokuto pouts at him. Kuroo taps a finger against his lips.
"Do you think we can keep doing this?" Bokuto whispers against the incriminating swirl of his fingerprint.
"What else is there for villains?" he murmurs. "What else is there for me, except you?"